If you’re a close follower of my life, as I assume everyone must be because, hello, I’m nothing short of fascinating, you of course know that this is the time of year I lovingly refer to as “f-cking allergy season.” The thousands of male cedar trees in Austin are literally exploding with pollen right now. Ex. Ploding. Seriously, it’s like they’re all being shipped off to a foreign war and only have 24 hours to hook up with the cute female cedar tree they met at the USO dance so they can have one last night of youthful pleasure, mmmmmmmm.
It’s possible that I don’t really understand Botany. #treesex
But you know what? That doesn’t matter because the point is that I’m on a shit ton of allergy medication right now and have a pretty nice buzz going on, so I think I understand it. Similar to how I thought I understood what I was being taught in “Physics of Sound 305” in college until my professor gave me a D for answering the test question, “How is sound transmitted?” with “By putting a George Michael tape in the tape player and pushing ‘Play,’ you idiot.” Luckily my A+ in “Film Pratfalls 201” kept my GPA up that semester or I would have lost my athletic scholarship. (Note: Wendi did not have an athletic scholarship.)
Which brings us to checks. Does it bring us to checks? I don’t know, but my super high blood-Benadryl-content says “yes,” so let’s roll with it.
Some of you may remember how I pissed off my husband a while ago by accidentally ordering checks that said “Livin’ Large and Takin’ Charge” on the signature line. I loved those checks. (And before you leave comments calling me an old loser for still writing checks, yes, I know what online bill paying is and I use it regularly. However, because I’m not allowed to pay things like my property taxes with a garbage bag full of pennies and/or live chickens, I still have checks.)
Now, unfortunately, I used up all of those fabulous checks, so I had to order new ones. And this time, I had something funny put on them intentionally because A) My husband hates it and B) I want something to make me laugh when I’m paying bills and sinking into a depression because I won’t be able to retire until the year 3000 with what we owe the propane company. So here are my new checks:
That’s right, it’s a naked man in a barrel. Timeless. And:
“I Brake For Garage Sales.” Of course it’s completely stupid, but every time I look at it, I get the giggles because it’s just random and weird and makes me think of the time my husband flung open the garage door and yelled, “No early birds! No early birds! Read the sign on the telephone pole! We’re not open yet! We’re still pricing the cans of expired cat food!” to the truck full of men who showed up at 5 a.m. to one of our yard sales. (Not to be confused with the yard sale where he sold a stack of pictures of me in junior high for a dollar to a strange older man in overalls who called himself “a collector of oddities.”)
Speaking of oddities, my friend Laurie showed me this picture last night and it’s probably the best thing I’ve seen in years. Barry Manilow, Marilyn Manson and some poor chick who’s really regretting answering Marilyn’s ad on Craigslist that said, “Escort Needed for Night Out: Must Love Goths.” I hope she at least got a nice meal out of it. (Update: I hear that’s actually Lana Del Rey, so she probably doesn’t get dates from Craigslist.)
“Oh, Marilyn, you came and you gave without taking, but I—what the hell, man, did you just get your pancake make-up on my shoulder pad?”